


Travel Companions

by PrincessAmericaChavez



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Protectiveness, Resurrection, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:44:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessAmericaChavez/pseuds/PrincessAmericaChavez
Summary: Under painful  circumstances, The Traveler judges Jester's friends.





	Travel Companions

He’s been watching them for quite some time, but never from this close. It’s usually through Jester’s eyes, her sketch book, her tales that he’s known them. Well, not entirely. He got curious too and would some times observe their adventures from the shadows, getting to know Jester’s new friends with his own two eyes. He’d been the first one, after all, and he wanted to make sure they all lived up to his standards. 

The Traveler liked observing them, even in their worst situations, as Jester ran around torn between fighting beasts and keeping her friends alive. He’d gotten to the conclusion that he’d chosen well. Tricksters, after all, aren’t too hard to find. Many in this world enjoy creating chaos, but too many seem to enjoy it most when it harms others. Good hearted mischief, in the other hand, is a much rarer gem, and in his not very humble opinion, Jester embodies it wonderfully. 

Perhaps it’s that good hearted playfulness that made Jester —and himself— like Mollymauk so quickly. He is, after all, a kindred spirit in more ways than one, and The Traveler finds him a great addition to his cleric’s adventures. There’s no cheerfulness in him now, though, as the tiefling kneels next to Jester’s body trying to shake her awake.

“Come on, kid, not like this,” Molly mumbles, pouring a healing potion into her mouth, trying to steady his own shaking hands to do so, but the spilled liquid will make no difference at this point, the Traveler knows.

“Move, move, maybe I- I can stabilize her or- or something,” Beauregard shoves Molly away and takes his place, pulling out her healing kit and searching the cleric’s body for wounds. There aren’t any. This isn’t that kind of issue. “I- I don’t know what to do,” she admits, voice shaking. 

Seeing her from up close for the first time, The Traveler notes her youth. She’s even younger than Jester, which is quite funny considering the tiefling sees her as an older sister, what could have been, what she could have had. He’s not sure if he agrees with that assessment. In his opinion, the monk is irreverent in a strangely boring way, too busy with suspicion and ambition to enjoy her own adventures. Jester approves of her, though, so he is willing to give her a try. 

There’s a shriek as a third person reaches the body, and it fills the musky carven with a shiver cold enough for The Traveler to feel it too. Ah, the other trickster child. He would claim her for himself too if given a chance, if her motives were less instinctual and her actions driven towards fun rather than survival. He’d accept her too, though, because he likes her. Much like Jester does, he sees in her another suitable playmate, and quite enjoys the shenanigans the two girls can get into on their own. It’s a match he’d quietly encouraged, and of which he’s rather proud. As the goblin cries, however, all he feels is a strange kind of sadness, clenching inside his chest. 

“Can you do something?! Please, Caleb! With your magic, you must- please!” Nott asks loudly, standing up to grab at the human’s clothes and tug desperately. 

“I don’t believe I can,” he says, rubbing her hair, his eyes set on Jester but clearly looking at something farther away, lifetimes ago.

Ah, the wizard. This one he likes even less than he does the monk. Too serious, too moody, too sad for his taste, but in him he knows Jester saw a challenge, a person to make happy somehow despite their differences. He’s seen her dance around him for months, with jokes and pranks and more than one argument… and he saw it all eventually pay off. It’s a thing he’ll admit he doesn’t understand, an unusual kind of friendship that at times reminds him of a pair of siblings he once knew. It’s important to Jester and, judging by the way his face has paled and his fists shake, it might be to him too.

“We need to do _something_!” Mollymauk snaps. 

Good, good. The Traveler has never been too keen on patience either. 

“I can’t,” Caleb insists. “I do not know- I don’t think I even _could_ bring her back… only a cleric could.”

“She _is_ the cleric!” Beauregard snaps, standing back up. Her eyes hold back tears. Yes, she is very young, and full of rage that she throws against the nearest rock. He’s confident he hears her knuckles snap against it. 

“Hey, hey, knock it off! That’s not helping!” Molly grabs her arms. 

“There are temples in town,” Yasha speaks up. “There were temples, I saw them. We can find clerics there.”

Without waiting for an answer, she scoops Jester up in her arms. The Traveler watches her closely, standing by Jester, close enough for his breath to slightly ruffle the white tips of her hair. The celestial one, he notes, Jester likes talking about her, admires her quite a bit. It’s not her strength that catches his attention, though, but the softness with which she looks at the tiefling, her jaw set with determination. He approves of the sentiment, but this won’t do. 

 _Those temples won’t do,_ he whispers in Mollymauk’s ear, pushing the idea into his head. The tiefling tenses, and the Traveler is amused to see that he recognizes the intrusive thoughts in his brain. He doesn’t mention it, though, he just says: “Those deities are not right for her. They’re just the ones allowed.”

“So what?” Beau snaps. “We just need them to bring her back, not to worship their gods or something.”

No. He won’t have it. He won’t be able to be with her if she goes there, and _she is his._

“It’s her deity that we need to contact,” Fjord intercedes. “We can’t do it there without them noticing.”

The Traveler turns around to look at the half-orc. He’s been quiet, keeping his distance, and even now his face is practically a mask, unreadable. Jester loves Fjord, she has for a while even if she might not truly realize how much, but he? Oh, he doesn’t like him. Fjord is filled with lies, curling like tentacles around his every word, he smells like salt and seaweed, he belongs to another whose darkness dims the warlock’s true intentions. And yet, this is the one Jester has chosen, her first friend after The Traveler, the object of an affection that almost rivals the one she shows him. He is competition. He makes her laugh and encourages her and he looks after her… but that isn’t Fjord’s role to play, that’s _his_. 

“Shakaste!” Nott jumps. “We should take her to him! He can help!”

“How would we _find_ Shakaste?” Beauregard asks, voice edging in anger. Molly is still holding her arm. 

“I- I might be able to,” Caleb jumps, dropping to his knees. He scatters his books on the floor and begins searching for an incantation. Five minutes later, he puts it together with shaky hands and sends the message. “Please, we need your help. Jester needs your help. We are North of Zadash, in a cave by the mountain. Please hurry.”

“Did it work?!” Beau and Molly ask at the same time. 

Caleb holds a hand up, then perks up.

“It worked! It worked! Oh my god! Yes! He said- He said he’s coming. A few hours. He is coming.”

_Hours?!_

The cave grows colder with his anger and the six travelers flinch a little. He groans and huffs and plane shifts away until the time has passed. At least they have an incoming solution, and that will do until he is needed again.

It’s hard to tell time when he’s not around mortals, but he feels the call once the ritual starts. He’s midway pulling strings in a fun and intricate political game he’s been playing with —the rich and powerful are incredibly fun to toy with and almost too easy to manipulate— but he drops it all immediately to show up to the ritual. 

Shakaste, he notes, looks exactly the way Jester described him in her drawings. Even in her cartoonish version, she captured the gentleness of his features, the wild hair, and the comforting aura that surrounds him. His white eyes shine, as do his hands placed on Jester’s body. 

“Does anyone have anything to offer to the ritual?” Shakaste asks with a calm voice that quite contrasts against the sudden wave of panic that goes through the remaining Mighty Nein. They look at each other, tensely, until Nott —the brave one— stands forward.

Nott says nothing, just puts down her mask next to Jester, and a handful of flowers. The first circle on the ground lights up and The Traveler feels Jester’s familiar soul for the first time since her death. She is still in the Raven Queen’s realm, but she’s awake, listening. He extends his reach, trying to get to her, to bring her closer to home. 

“Hey,” Mollymauk intercedes next, kneeling by her side. His voice is very soft, but in the darkness where Jester is it resonates and makes her soul feel stronger. 

“So, tiefling to tiefling,” he says as a confidence, and as he speaks he starts moving jewelry from his horns to hers, “this isn’t my first time dealing with this kind of thing, you know? It’s a wonderful story, that I might tell you about later, but for that you have to come back, yes? I mean, we still have so much to do, and honestly it wouldn’t be fun if it’s without you so please, _please,_ come back to us?” 

As he finishes with the jewels, he puts down his deck of cards, next to Nott’s offering, slices his palm with his swords and lets the blood drip on them. As soon as the blood falls, something moves in the air of the cave, some dark energy that The Traveler has recognized on Mollymauk’s fighting and that now manifests itself in his spiritual plane. It circles around Jester’s body, then moves towards the darkness where her soul is and holds on to her, like a chain, pulling her closer to this world.

And next, of course, comes Fjord. The Traveler watches as the man takes the spot Molly had been on kneels next to the cleric. He’s barely spoken, as far as he knows, but when he does his voice is clear.

“Jester? I- No, that’s not right. It’s not you who we should be calling for, is it, darling? It’s The Traveler.”

_Finally._

With a laugh he stops everything around them, keeping Fjord, Jester and himself inside a nice little bubble to talk. He appears then, physical and tall before the kneeling half-orc.

“You called?” He asks, tilting his head, as if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment from the instant Jester fell.

“I did,” Fjord says, standing up on his feet. His usual drawl is gone, as is his sheepish air. He stands tall, chin held high and eyes trained on him. 

“So _this_ is your real voice,” The Traveler smirks, narrowing his eyes at him and crossing his arms over his chest. “That explains some things.” Like the veil of lies that usually covers his words and the easiness with which he seems to fade into the background when he wishes to.

“Yes, it is,” Fjord says, shifting his weight a little. For a second, he seems unsure, but The Traveler is not about to help him out of the awkwardness by breaking the silence. He finally clears his throat and says: “I- I don’t know much about the gods, or religion, or magic. I’m still learning.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” The Traveler snorts.

“Yes, uh, yes. But I do know you,” Fjord goes on, slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I do, because you are the most important thing to Jester, and she is- I’m _hoping_ she is as important to you… as she is to me.”

“You lie to her,” The Traveler says, hiding his accusation behind amusement.

“No, it’s not that. I- She knows me, maybe not my history, but the part of me she knows, it’s real. It might be the only thing that’s real anymore. And she is real, and fun, and kind, and too good to die like this after all the shit she’s been through. She deserves more. I just want to bring her back, I’ll do anything. Please.”

The Traveler considers him carefully. It might be the false voice being gone, or it might simply be his words, but something about the warlock sounds honest. He thinks he spots, for the first time behind all the shadows, the light that Jester keeps talking about, earnest and heart behind the many faces.

“Jester says you are her best friend in the world,” Fjord goes on. “I want to believe that you want to help her too.”

And there’s a look in the half-orc’s eyes that suggests that the distrust is mutual, but there’s frankness in it too, a strange offering that rings of desperation to The Traveler’s ears. And that kind of desperation is exactly the kind a god, or some other kind of creature, might latch on to. It’s dangerous.

“I do,” he finally replies, taking a step forward and offering Fjord a hand. The boy shakes it firmly, shoulders easing with relief.

With the contact, The Traveler hears waves, smells salty water, and takes notice of the shadows that still linger behind Fjord like tentacles, he feels observed and he doesn’t like it. 

“Word of advice,” he whispers as his physical form vanishes, “next time be more mindful of _who_ you make deals with.”

“Wha-”

Before Fjord can get another word in, he lets go and the world recovers its pace. The rest of the party find Fjord standing there, with his hand out stretched and staring confused at the emptiness in front of him. The Traveler finds it rather funny. As they try to ask what happened and the half-orc mumbles lies and excuses, they are interrupted by a loud intake of air. 

The ritual continues and Jester finally comes back from the shadows. In the crossroads, The Traveler kisses her forehead and sends her a wave of reassurance, so that her awakening may not be too violent and her own death won’t put fear inside her bright heart.

 _Give them hell,_ he whispers with a smile. _You chose them well._


End file.
